How to get married in Poland – Part 3

Read part 1 here

Read part 2 here

We returned to the registry office in Wroclaw armed with our Certificate of No Impediment to Marriage (let me remind you that this meaningless piece of paper cost us 700PLN, £140, €170, US$225), a certified copy of my birth certificate (the original is actually a copy too, so the certified copy is a copy of a copy), a date for the ceremony, a translator and a decision on our married names: I would keep my name and she would combine her name with my name. In Poland, this is something you have to decide before you can set a wedding date. We did not take all of our electronics to the registrar’s office as we had to the British Embassy. In fact, by this point I was becoming disillusioned with the gadgets I owned – they were not fast enough. I needed an iPad, I decided, but anticipating the cost of what was to come, it was unlikely I would be getting one any time soon.

“When would you like to get married?” the registrar said.

“June the thirtieth,” we said.

“No, that date is already booked up.”

“July the sixth?”

“No.”

“July the thirteenth?” We were due to fly on our honeymoon on July the fifteenth.

“Maybe. Let me check.”

She checked. We waited.

“Yes, that is okay. Now, what will your names be?”

We told her.

“And the names of your children?”

“What?” I said, thinking perhaps the translator had made a mistake.

“What names will your children take?”

“But we don’t have any children.”

“No, your future children. What names will your future children take?”

I looked at my girlfriend. She looked as confused as I felt.

“What do you think?” I said.

“I don’t know, what do you think?”

“Should we talk about it and come back later?”

“If we do that then we’ll lose our slot and we won’t be able to get married before the honeymoon.”

“Good point,” I said. “Both?”

“Okay, both,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, “the children which do not yet exist will have both of our names.”

The registrar nodded wisely. We had made a good decision. We were going to be a good married couple. Our children were going to have good and happy lives, even if they themselves were imaginary. She recorded the information and the date of our wedding and walked to another desk and returned with a credit card payment terminal.

“That will be xxx zloty (£xxx, €xxx, US$xxx), please.”

I have forgotten how much this part of the procedure cost. I stopped counting after I paid what I considered to be a ridiculous amount of money for the Certificate of No Impediment to Marriage, a piece of paper which does nothing except tell its reader that I told its writer that I am not married.

Here is the unavoidable fact about weddings: everything connected with a wedding costs money. If the word wedding is involved, either in print or in thought, expect to pay above the odds for whatever it is you want. Just like a parent will pay anything for a child’s medicine, people know that those who want to get married will pay whatever it takes to make it happen, and the more you have already paid, the more emotionally invested you have become, and the more you will be prepared to pay.

get married in Poland

After arranging a wedding date, things were relatively simple: we bought some expensive rings (my attempt to secure wedding iPads instead of wedding rings was unsuccessful); we paid for our expensive honeymoon; I bought an expensive suit; my wife arranged for an expensive stylist to come to our apartment in the morning; and we arranged a venue for our party.

My wife searched online for “wedding dresses” and found one on Amazon that she liked. Having realised that anything involving the word “wedding” automatically increases the price, she then searched for “prom dresses” and found the same dress from the same company for a fraction of the price.

The other one saving we managed to make was with a party venue. We chose a vegan café that I frequent most weekdays for lunch, and we asked if they would be willing to host our wedding party. Perhaps not realising that they could charge whatever they wanted and we would still have paid, or perhaps just because they were nice people, our party ended up being much cheaper than we anticipated.

The best thing about wedding parties is that everybody brings you presents. I love presents. Unfortunately, they are usually practical home presents, such as glasses, plates, home store gift vouchers, and not fun presents like computer games, books or electronics. I had hoped that since wedding iPads were out, I might find one among here, but I was again disappointed.

So what has changed from boyfriend to husband, from girlfriend to wife? Not much. I regularly forget to wear my wedding ring and I spend the day wracked with guilt, hoping my wife will not notice, and the alleged tax advantages have not emerged. Since my wife owns an apartment and I own nothing, I have technically married into property and climbed one rung on the social ladder, while my wife has gained the same last name as a famous poet, which puts her in good standing among her literary friends and colleagues. Our imaginary children are doing well – they are quiet and well-behaved – although since they and my wife all have the same last name and I have a different last name, I feel as if I am the odd one out, and I am considering changing my name to match the rest of my family’s.

One thing has changed: my wife and I have both noticed that between us, there is a stronger sense of unity. We are a team and the world has no choice but to see us as a team. If somebody has a problem with one of us, then they have a problem with both of us and what affects one affects the other. I consider my decisions more carefully, I spend my money more carefully (I still have no iPad) and I save more than before. I just wish I could remember where I left that ring.

Read part 1 here

Read part 2 here

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Google Plus
  • Pinterest
  • Delicious
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr
  • RSS
Posted in Life in Poland | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

How to get married in Poland – Part 2

Read part 1 here

Read part 3 here

As we drove to Warsaw we followed the directions of Google Navigation, which at the time was in beta mode. It took us on the fastest route, along the back roads to the main highway between Berlin and Warsaw. The back roads are slow, but rather than going along national roads, which are sometimes slower, it saves time to use the back roads to get to the highway, where we can race directly to Warsaw. Google is a thinker. This would have been a great idea but for the fact that it was a particularly snowy April, and the back roads were covered in ice. Our journey to Warsaw was very, very long. For the return trip we chose the national roads, and our journey was only very long.

In Warsaw, we went to the British embassy. It is one of the biggest and grandest embassies in the city, and I do not know why the British government, a member of the European Union, needs such a big and grand embassy in Poland, a fellow member of the European Union. When I saw the building I imagined the Ambassador playing many very important games of Minesweeper in his massive office, waiting for something, anything, to happen. Since then, as recent Edward Snowden-related have events unfolded, I have come to suspect that the building is housing a massive surveillance operation and that the Ambassador is listening to every Polish person’s conversations. I feel for the Ambassador. As any Polish person will tell you, the Polish national pastime is complaining, and Poles are very, very good at it. The British Ambassador to Poland must be a very depressed person.

We approached the security building, itself the size of a small embassy, and the guards asked us to hand over all of our electronic equipment. This is what we had: two mobile phones, two Kindles, one MacBook Air laptop and one Samsung Galaxy Tab. All of our equipment did not fit through the slot. It was embarrassing. Why did we have so much equipment? To be honest, I do not think I can give you a satisfactory answer. It seemed somehow important that we take all of it to Warsaw with us. In Warsaw, we used none of it.

Inside the embassy, we sat in front of a glass window and a lady explained the procedure to us: I was to fill out the Certificate of No Impediment to Marriage and give it to her. Then my girlfriend and I were to fill out the Notice of Marriage and she would post it on the embassy notice board. The Notice of Marriage was just that: a notice of our intention to marry. It would remain on the board for twenty-one days, and if nobody lodged an objection or said that I was already married, she would stamp the Certificate of No Impediment to Marriage and mail it to us. This stamp cost me 700PLN (£140, €170, US$225). I would like to point out that this money does not go to the Polish government. This money goes to the British government (in fact, all the governments charge similar ridiculous amounts). Your own government is ripping you off.

How to get married in Poland british embassy

Before we could post the Notice of Marriage, we had to fill it in. It is a simple form that asks for your address, your marital status, the date you wish to marry, your beloved’s address, your beloved’s marital status and the date your beloved wishes to marry. With any luck, you will both wish to marry on the same day. I wrote “bachelor” as my marital status and my girlfriend wrote “single”.

“No,” the lady said. “You have to write ‘spinster’.”

“But I don’t want to,” my girlfriend said, picturing herself as an old lady surrounded by cats whom her friends avoid because they cannot take the smell.

“Too bad, you have to.”

My girlfriend amended her entry and we handed the form to the lady.

“Right, before I can post this on the notice board, I have to ask you three questions. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I said. I like quizzes.

“Question one: are you already married?”

“No.”

“Very good. Question two: have you been living in Poland for longer than three months?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Question three: are you related to the person you wish to marry?”

“No.”

“Wonderful!” she said and she stamped the form. She then walked to the notice board and pinned the form to it. At no point did it seem to occur to her that somebody could lie about these questions.

“Excuse me,” I said, “has anybody ever lied to you?”

“No, but we used to only ask the first two questions, and then once we had a man who wanted to marry his niece, so now we ask three questions, just to be safe.”

She finished adjusting the Notice of Marriage form and took a step back to admire her work.

“There,” she said. “That stays up for twenty-one days, and if nobody objects, you will receive your Certificate of No Impediment to Marriage on the twenty-second day.”

I asked her if anybody had ever complained in the history of the British Embassy in Warsaw. She told me no. I wondered, of the approximately sixty million British citizens alive today, how many, within the next twenty-one days, would walk into the embassy, look at the notice board and recognise me. I guessed approximately zero. Still, I decided, it was best not to tell anybody. You never know who you’ve pissed off in the past.

Perhaps feeling guilty at having lightened my wallet so dramatically, the lady offered us some extra advice, this time for free. I needed to get another copy of my birth certificate, because the Polish authorities would keep my original. They would take it from me and never, ever give it back.

We left the British Embassy and we had an adequate but expensive lunch and we left Warsaw. I am always amazed at how efficiently capital cities can relieve you of all your money.

Read part 1 here

Read part 3 here

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Google Plus
  • Pinterest
  • Delicious
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr
  • RSS
Posted in Life in Poland | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

How to get married in Poland – Part 1

Read part 2 here

Read part 3 here

My girlfriend wanted me to propose to her. So we went to a jewellery store and we bought an engagement ring. And she was happy. I asked her when we should get married. And she did not understand the question.

My girlfriend did not realise that if she wanted an engagement ring, she would have to get married shortly after receiving it. She was happy to stop proceedings once she got the ring. I, on the other hand, do not understand why a person would get engaged without getting married. For me, it is like making a meal and moving it straight from the cooker to the trash can.

After some discussion, we compromised on our initial preferences for a wedding date (her, sometime in the distant future, possibly before one of us dies; me, the next day) and we settled on sometime within the next three months. In the end it was four months. And a half.

Church weddings are hugely popular in Poland, but if you want a church wedding, I cannot help you, because both I and my now wife are atheists, and I know next to nothing about church weddings. All I can tell you about church weddings is that you will have to set aside a year to do it, you will have to obtain documents from the church in which you were baptised, from the church in which your beloved was baptised, from the church you currently attend, from the church your beloved currently attends and from the church in which you wish to marry. Furthermore, you and your beloved, both of you virgins and of opposing genders, naturally, must attend a twelve week course in which a priest, also a virgin, hopefully, will instruct you on how to live together as husband and wife, and on how to have safe sex without a condom. The latter instruction may or may not involve props. That is all I know about church weddings. The rest of this article is for secular couples on an express ride to hell. (1)

Il Mamba Nero

We went to the registry office to set a date for our wedding. The official congratulated us on our decision, but she was sorry to inform us that in Poland, you cannot simply set a date. There are rules, procedures to be followed, forms to be stamped. Particularly if, like me, you are not Polish. We needed to go to Warsaw.

In Warsaw, we needed to visit the British embassy and obtain a form called “Certificate of No Impediment to Marriage.” This form tells the Polish authorities that I am not already married. A sensible requirement. After all, I have been told there are many tax advantages to being married, and the more people you can marry, the more tax advantages you can enjoy. It is unfair to those who only marry one person at a time.

I printed a blank copy of the Certificate of No Impediment to Marriage as well as a Notice of Marriage. I printed three copies of each in case something went wrong. We went to Warsaw.

(1) a reader has brought to my attention the fact that the church wedding I have described relates only to the Catholic church, and that other religions have their own practices and procedures. Catholicism is so prevalent in Poland that you quickly forget there are other religions, and I apologise to all of these religions, although that is probably not enough to get me out of hell.

Read part 2 here

Read part 3 here

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Google Plus
  • Pinterest
  • Delicious
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr
  • RSS
Posted in Life in Poland, Writing | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

On watching Game of Thrones

  1. You are in a cafe in the middle of the day.
  2. You have some time to kill and you are bored.
  3. You have an unfinished episode of Game of Thrones on your laptop.
  4. It seems like a good idea to watch the episode of Game of Thrones on your laptop in the cafe.
  5. It is not a good idea.
  6. You believe you are watching a political drama of intrigue and betrayal.
  7. You are actually watching medieval porn. In public.

Game of Thrones

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Google Plus
  • Pinterest
  • Delicious
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr
  • RSS
Posted in Writing | 1 Comment

Submission letter to a literary magazine

Dear Sir/Madam,

On the following pages you will find my story, The Strange Preoccupation of James Andrew Cedric Cuthbert. It is approximately five and a half thousand words long and it is a quirky examination of life and death. It is double spaced.

Some facts and details about me: I am originally from Northern Ireland, though I grew up in South Africa, lived in Berlin, Germany, for many years, and now live in Wroclaw in Poland. Wroclaw is pronounced Vrots Love (not Rock Law). In Poland, I teach creative writing at the University of Wroclaw and professional writing at another university whose name is roughly translated as the University of Philology. In Polish it is entirely unpronounceable. I live with my wife and two cats, one of whom we inherited from an old lady who passed away. The old lady’s death was not the inspiration for this story.

To date, I have written two novels, four plays and many short stories and essays. One short story, “The Exhibits”, was published by Fiction 365 Magazine, and another, “The Necklace”, was published by The Legendary Magazine. A third story was shortlisted for publication by a Scottish magazine, Chapman, but then I never heard from them again and their website has not been updated for several years, so I assume they have gone bankrupt, either as a result of financial difficulties or to save themselves the awkward conversation of explaining to me that they have changed their minds about my story. The same with a company in Berlin making an interactive ebook.

Concerning my novels, I need to rewrite the first before I send it to agents for rejection, while I am happy to say that the second is rejected on a regular basis. However, the first novel will have to wait: I am currently writing a television series which is taking up a great deal of my time. Soon enough, however, the bitter Polish winter will set in and the snow will come and I will have plenty of time to write.

Should The Strange Preoccupation of James Andrew Cedric Cuthbert prove unsatisfactory, perhaps you will allow me to entertain you with my blog, www.bohemianbreakdancer.com. On this website you will find a collection of stories about my life: I suggest beginning with the time I gatecrashed a nightclub with the help of the US Marines, though you are of course free to choose your own beginning.

Should you require any further information from me, or should you wish to see more of my stories, please contact me.

Best regards,

Will McNeice.

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Google Plus
  • Pinterest
  • Delicious
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr
  • RSS
Posted in Writing | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Important lessons I have learned from television

1. Open a restaurant.

Despite opening a restaurant being one of the riskiest business ventures imaginable, it will be a success. However, if you are a customer…

2. Eat carefully at restaurants.

You are in serious danger of choking on your food. Luckily, there is always somebody around who knows how to do the Heimlich manoeuvre.

3. Never allow weapons in your car, plane or boat.

If you are driving a car, flying a plane or piloting a boat and there is a struggle over a gun, you will be the first person to be killed. You will fall over the steering wheel and send the vehicle on a collision course, and somebody else will have to save the day.

4. If you plan to get married, do not spend money on a priest or other official.

At least one of your closest friends has a certificate from the internet allowing them to officiate at weddings.

5. Never come home from work early.

You will find your lover in bed with your best friend.

6. Write a movie script.

It will go straight to the top Hollywood moguls and they will turn it into the most successful movie of the last decade, no questions asked.

7. Enter the lottery.

You will win.

8. If an event has a one in a million chance of happening, it is definitely going to happen.

Strangely, in the world of television, a one in a million chance is the same thing as a one in one chance.

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Google Plus
  • Pinterest
  • Delicious
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr
  • RSS
Posted in Writing | 1 Comment

Hawaii Five-0: A letter to CBS

Dear CBS,

My wife and I recently returned from our perfect honeymoon in Hawaii, and decided to watch Hawaii-Five-0 to relive those splendid memories. We thought we would be enjoying some beautifully filmed footage of all the things we saw and loved, but after only two or three episodes, we realised that the scenery was moot and that we were lucky just to escape with our lives, that neither of us ended up shot, kidnapped, sold into prostitution, beheaded, drowned, or the victim of a Yakuza blood feud. The body count in this series indicates the Aloha State is in fact the crime capital of the world. During our time there, we had no idea that every second person on the street was a hardened criminal who wished us harm. Imagine our shock when we saw McGarret and Danny perform a death-defying high speed car chase past the hotel in which we stayed! Imagine our horror when the shuttle bus we took from the airport was used in another high-speed car chase! Imagine our terror as we watched episode after episode and the body count just kept rising!

But we have learned a thing or two from the series. For example, my mother denies being a CIA agent, but I now know that she is lying. I have carefully watched my parents’ activities – so far I have found no trace of vendettas involving international arms dealers, but it is only a matter of time. My wife and I now have three minute “navy showers”, and just like Steve and Danny, I am looking for another man with which to have a quasi-homosexual relationship, and my wife is very excited by the idea.

Indeed, the Governor was right to set up a task force with full immunity from prosecution. Without Steve, Danny, Chin and Kono breaking down doors yelling “Five-0!” as if people knew what that meant, without them endangering innocent lives with reckless car chases, without them breaking every US and international law and violating suspects’ most fundamental human rights, Hawaii would be a dystopian nightmare, instead of what it is now, which is a dystopian bad dream. Thanks to Five-0, Hawaii is now a teeny bit less dangerous than it once was.

When we return to Hawaii, we will be sure to bring at least $20 million to pay for the inevitable kidnapping and ransom, and we will make sure we have Five-0 on speed dial, so that the moment we are in trouble, one of the gang can “be right there.”

Fearfully yours,

Will McNeice

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Google Plus
  • Pinterest
  • Delicious
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr
  • RSS
Posted in Writing | 1 Comment

Hawaiian minutes versus real minutes

Dear Hawaiian Shuttle Company,

My wife and I recently arrived in Honolulu on our honeymoon and we used your shuttle service to travel from the airport to our hotel and back again, when we went to the Big Island. Your service is excellent and your staff are very friendly, helpful, informative and entertaining. On the way to the hotel, the driver told us we would arrive in approximately fifteen Hawaiian minutes, which means “you’re on vacation, so sit back and relax, and we’ll get there when we get there.” We thought this was funny, we laughed, and later we noticed that the entirety of Honolulu seems to operate on Hawaiian minutes.

Satisfied with the service, we booked a shuttle to take us to the airport for our trip to the Big Island. I called the office and spoke to a gentlemen, telling him I would like to go to the airport.

“What time is your flight?” he said.

“Ten past eight in the morning.”

“We have a seven o’clock shuttle.”

“Is that going to be enough time to get through check-in and security and to the gate?”

“Yeah, should be.”

It was not enough time. We arrived at the airport at 8am, went to the check-in desk and were told the plane was already boarded and ready to leave. They placed us on standby for the next flight, which was in two and a half hours. We passed the time drinking coffee and observing an overweight man performing squats with his hand luggage. While we applauded his efforts to better his life situation, we worried that he was trying to do too much too soon. Nevertheless, we respected his assessment of the performance capabilities of his own body. Then, the next flight was delayed and it was in three and a half hours, and there was only one available seat. I took the seat so that I could make all the rental car arrangements in Kona and wait for my wife, who would hopefully arrive on the next flight. I boarded the plane, took my seat and thought it ironic that just eight days into our marriage, my wife and I were already separated.

Luckily, my wife was on the next flight, but the flight was also delayed by an hour. Eventually, we arrived at our hotel in Kona, after a journey of seven hours (or fifty Hawaiian minutes) which should have taken two hours (or twenty Hawaiian minutes).

I believe this mishap could have been avoided with a simple understanding: while most of Hawaii operates on Hawaiian minutes, the airlines operate on actual minutes, and it is necessary to convert between the two systems to ensure there are no unnecessary delays.

In either the top right or bottom right of your computer screen you will find a series of four numbers. This is called a clock, and it can be used with great accuracy to determine when a person, for example a customer, should be in a specific location, for example an airport. Using a clock is complicated and it is beyond the scope of this email to teach, but with practice and enough Hawaiian minutes, it should be possible to harmoniously convert from one system to the other.

I wish you the best in your efforts to better your company’s performance in the fourth dimension, and my wife and I, now recovered from our trial separation, look forward to witnessing the results first-hand.

Regards,

Will McNeice.

Hawaiian minutes

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Google Plus
  • Pinterest
  • Delicious
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr
  • RSS
Posted in Writing | Leave a comment

Brothel hopping with my mother-in-law

Not long ago, I, my girlfriend and my girlfriend’s mother went to a restaurant in the centre of Wroclaw, Poland. We ate at an Indian restaurant where the dishes are bland enough to satisfy the German tourists, but which nevertheless, my girlfriend believes is a good restaurant. I find this puzzling, because both my girlfriend and I are big fans of flavour.

We ate our meals. I drank two beers to counteract my disappointment. We left the restaurant. Outside was a taxi rank and three taxis sat idle. My girlfriend’s mother had walked too much that day, so she wanted to take a taxi home. I too wanted to take a taxi – I would not survive the twenty minute walk to the apartment without needing to pee. We approached the first taxi and asked the driver to take us to-

“I’m on a break. Try the taxi behind.”

We tried the taxi behind.

The driver looked at me and my girlfriend and my girlfriend’s mother. “Where are you going?”

We stated our address.

“No,” he said and rolled up the window.

We tried the third and last taxi.

“Sure, get in.”

We wanted to ask the driver why the other taxi drivers had been rude, but he he was so happy to have customers who were not horny that he volunteered everything we wanted to know and more besides.

“You see that night club over there?”

We looked over there. There was a night club.

“Well, it’s not a night club but a strip club.”

We looked again. At second glance, it looked more like a strip club than a night club.

“The taxi companies have a deal with the strip club. You see, a lot of young men go there to see the women strip, and they get turned on, but the strip club has a ‘no touching’ policy.”

We nodded. We had all seen the movies where a customer’s busy hands land him in trouble with the establishment.

“So, the men get horny but they can’t do anything, and they come out here and the taxis then take them to a brothel.”

“Okay, but can’t they take people to other places too?”

“The night club always wants there to be a taxi available for them. Think about it. If you’re horny, everything is much more urgent. You need to get some release fast. If there’s no taxi, they might go somewhere else.”

We thought about it. He was right. I felt the seat belt press on my bladder and thought about getting some release.

“Also,” he said, “the taxis charge a premium for the brothels, so they only want those customers.”

I began to wonder if the driver was taking us to a brothel.

“The whole thing disgusts me,” he said. “So I take regular customers too.”

Travelling along the bumpy, city streets, the driver elaborated on all the things that disgust and disappoint him, which included the way the driver in front was driving, the weather for this time of year, the disrespect pedestrians show to drivers and the disrespect drivers show to pedestrians. Nothing was what it used to be and everything was getting worse. Trying to ignore the imminent crisis in my bladder, I drifted into my own thoughts and recalled the second taxi driver.

I was puzzled by how he had looked at each of us in turn and then asked us where we wanted to go. Did he think that a young man with a young woman and her mother would wish to visit a brothel? Had he seen this trio before and been himself surprised by their carnal desires? What could the carnal desires of such a combination be? I wanted to go back and ask him, but our taxi had transported us home under a barrage of disappointed nostalgia and I felt sad and I needed to pee. My bladder is not what it used to be.

Brothel hopping

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Google Plus
  • Pinterest
  • Delicious
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr
  • RSS
Posted in Life in Poland, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The story of Rabbit and Fox

As told to me by an English student from Kazakstan

One afternoon, Rabbit wanted to boil an egg for lunch, but he had no pot in his kitchen with which to boil the egg.

“I know! Fox has a pot. I’ll go and borrow Fox’s pot.”

And off he went to Fox’s house. On the way, he played out the conversation in his head.

In Rabbit’s head, Fox opened the door and smiled.

Hi Rabbit, it’s nice to see you. What can I do for you?

Hi Fox, I need to borrow your pot.

My pot? Why do you need my pot?

I need to boil an egg.

Don’t you have your own pot?

If I had my own pot, I wouldn’t need to borrow yours.

Rabbit rounded a corner and saw Fox’s house at the end of the street.

In Rabbit’s head, Fox said, Well, I also need my pot. What if I want to boil an egg? What am I going to do if I have no pot? How long do you want to borrow it for?

Only for the afternoon. Is that really such a problem?

Well, what if you don’t bring it back when you say you will?

I’ll bring it back tonight.

Isn’t there anything else you can use to boil the egg?

Not really. I just need a pot for the afternoon.

Can’t you borrow it from somebody else?

I suppose, but you’re my best friend. I thought you would be fine with lending me your pot.

Look Rabbit, I really don’t want to lend you my pot. What if you damage it?

At Fox’s house, Rabbit entered through the gate, slammed it shut, walked to the door in three strides and knocked hard. Fox opened the door and smiled.

“Hi Rabbit, it’s nice to see you. What can I-”

“You know what, Fox? Just keep your pot. I’ll borrow one from somebody else. And the next time you want to borrow something from me, the answer is no!”

Rabbit stormed away from the house, slamming the gate as he left.

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Google Plus
  • Pinterest
  • Delicious
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr
  • RSS
Posted in Writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment